The adventures of Nob of Bree
by ZoZo
Summary: A silly little fic I wrote. Sadly, there's far more to come. I would recommend a sense of humour.
1. An ordinary evening in Bree

-I don't own any of the characters which might be found between the pages of Tolkein's delightful novel, much as I'd love to own Nob. I also wouldn't recommend reading this fic if you have a well-developed sense of humour, as I thrive upon innuendo. You have been warned.-  
  
Bree, a town filled with "interesting" characters, a good inn and an abundance of pipe weed.  
  
"When a man is tired of Bree," Barliman Butterbur had always said, "he is tired of life." Nob had heard Butterbur say that so many times, and had come to the conclusion that therefore he, Nob, must be tired of life. He was fed up with being a general skivvy at the Prancing Pony. He was tired of seeing endless faces coming and going, the inn being a stopover before they continued with their great adventures.  
  
Nob wanted a great adventure.  
  
He had heard such great stories, rumours of all sorts. That a hobbit not too different from himself had vanquished the Dark Lord. That tale seemed just a little too tall. Taller than the gossip that the miserable bloke who had sat, scowling, in the corner a few years ago, had turned out to be a King.  
  
There was a world outside Bree, Nob knew that. Travellers told that it was both terrifying and wonderful. Nob feared nothing but- his fear was irrational. Ridiculous, maybe. But very real it was.  
  
He could have got married and escaped had it not been for this fear. Alas, he was trapped.  
  
Nob was snapped from his reverie by the sound of vomiting. This happened frequently in the Prancing Pony; there was always someone who couldn't take his ale. The hobbits were the worst; small stomachs, but this time it was a Man. A very drunk Man.  
  
Having been through this on an almost nightly basis, Nob knew the drill. Get the drunkard to the bedroom which was set aside for this purpose. The smallest room in the inn, with the scratchiest, least comfortable bed. Though compared to Nob's quarters, "The Puke Room" was veritably palatial. Nob's little room didn't smell half as bad as the Puke Room, which was only aired occasionally, and the floor mopped if there was a mess.  
  
And once the drunk had been installed in the Puke Room, Nob had to clean up the vomit and return to his other duties.  
  
Men were always more difficult for Nob to deal with than hobbits. Nob could quite comfortably support a hobbit in the journey to the Puke Room, but Men were rather a lot larger. Once Nob had thought he may have been escorting an Elf, but he had stopped this fancy by reminding himself that an Elf would never lose composure like that, and probably never come into an inn like the Prancing Pony in the first place.  
  
"Come on, mister," Nob said, forcing brightness into his tone, though he felt anything but. The man groaned. "I've got a nice room for you to sleep in." This wasn't going too well, Nob thought. The man was slumped forward, his head in his hands, most likely going to throw up again, evidently drunk. This called for the kind approach. "Can you stand up?" No response. "Can you hear me?" No response.  
  
Time for minor violence to be called into play. A poke to the ribs bought the man back into the realms of the living, and launched into incoherent rambling. "Up we get," Nob said in the same voice his mother had used when he had refused his bath as a child.  
  
It took a very long time to get the man upstairs, lying down, and informed where the basin was if any more alcohol decided to work its way up. And then there was the unenviable task of cleaning up the floor by the table.  
  
All in all it was a horribly long night. It always was at the Prancing Pony. Too much ale spelled a wide range of problems. The night was not complete without at least one fight. Tonight's involved a pair of men who, apparently, had both been "poking" the same woman. The outcome of this fight was their mutual agreement that in fact it was the woman who was at fault, and soon they were swearing vows of eternal brotherhood, and Nob was concerned that they might join the writhing couple in a corner who Butterbur, rather than stopping, was watching avidly. 


	2. A slightly less ordinary morning in Bree

-Still with me? Good. things are about to get a lot worse, I'm afraid. Tolkein must be spinning in his grave at the moment-  
  
Deep sleep was very much a luxury to Nob; he very rarely got much of it, and it was always disturbed by either raucous noise (for Bree was the town that never slept) or by nightmares. Nob hates suffering from his silly nightmares; they all stemmed from his altogether ridiculous phobia. Once he had told Bob of what he had dreamed, and had been mercilessly teased by the stablehand ever since.  
  
As the sun's first light filled his little room, Nob supposed he had better check up on that drunk man. Just to make sure he hadn't died in the night, and there wasn't anything to clean up. Many a morning, Nob had to clean the floor of the Puke Room, only for it to be soiled again the following night.  
  
This morning was quite refreshing. The drunk was sitting up, smiling. This was irregular; usually inmates of the Puke Room had the temperament of one of those nasty Black Riders, and skin pale as the dead.  
  
"Looks like it's going to be a nice day today," the man commented. "By the way, where am I?"  
  
"Prancing Pony, Bree," Nob replied. This often happened.  
  
"Oh, I know that. This just isn't my room."  
  
"You were-"  
  
"Very drunk? Oh yes. I suppose I probably was. Gonâd the Gallant, by the way. And you are.?"  
  
"Nob, sir." Nob was still amazed by this man's ability to recover so swiftly, after last night's state.  
  
"Nob, what a lovely name. Tell me, Nob, what are you doing here exactly?"  
  
"I was checking to see if-"  
  
"Tell me, Nob," Gonâd interrupted, "do you like your job?"  
  
"Well-"  
  
"I wouldn't, either. I own an inn, you see. Used to, at any rate. My servants were always surly because they hated the work. Doesn't matter now, anyway, they're running the place while I'm away. Do you like adventures, Nob?"  
  
In his time, Nob had been asked many a strange question by those in the Puke Room. For example, one woman had inquired as to whether Nob could knit her a similar pair of foot-warmers to those on his own feet. That wasn't as bad as the time he'd been mistaken for a cloak-stand though.  
  
"I've never had one, sir," Nob said.  
  
"I can't promise you an adventure," Gonâd said, "but I'd love for you to accompany me home. Long journeys are so incredibly boring when one is alone. I think I should like your company. Just for talk, and you could teach me that delightful song I heard yesterday. The one about what an elf- maiden has under her skirts."  
  
Nob giggled. Despite the tedious, repetitive nature of work in the Prancing Pony, that was one song that constantly amused Nob. It was coarse, crude, yet incredibly funny. "I should be happy to teach you it. And to walk with you."  
  
"Excellent, excellent," Gonâd enthused. "I was concerned about having to make that lonely long journey. I'm sure you'll enjoy it as much as I will. You already strike me as excellent company. I suppose you'd better pack your bags. Travel light, we're walking, you know."  
  
Nob couldn't obey swiftly enough. Travelling light was of no difficulty for him; he possessed little. In fact, much of Nob's pack was made up of pipe- weed. He had no idea how much he would be able to acquire on his travels, so it was best to go prepared. On the way to the door, Nob realised he had forgotten his pipe, so made sure to pick that up, and store it in his pocket, for it would most probably be his most important item.  
  
Butterbur was still asleep, so Nob slid a hastily scrawled note under the door (he wasn't fully sure whether Butterbur could read or not, but it lifted his conscience slightly). And Nob was ready to leave Bree and embark on his own adventure. He was sure there would be excitement, danger, and certainly far more exciting than a monotonous life at the Prancing Pony.  
  
With one last wave to Bob, who was mucking out the horses, Nob walked with Gonâd away from Bree and on to an adventure. 


	3. Gonâd's tale

Gonâd had been chattering away for a good few hours about anything an everything, when it came to Nob that he had absolutely no idea how far he would be travelling with his companion, and where their final destination would be. Every now and then he would attempt to distract Gonâd from his narrative, but these efforts were in vain. Gonâd simply had to complete his monologue on the state of the weather.  
  
"-very sunny for this time of year, it really is good travelling weather, don't you think, Nob? Of course you do. It's just lovely. Why, look at the colour of my skin! Beautiful. O, it's all just so nice when the sun is shining."  
  
"Mister-"  
  
"Please, Nob, call me Gonâd. For that is my name, after all. I absolutely insist on it. My mother gave me my name, and therefore it should be used. After all-"  
  
"Mi- Gonâd- I have a question for you!"  
  
"Do ask it, then. Don't feel like you can't get a word in edgeways with me. After all, you are my companion, so I think you should have the chance to-"  
  
"Wherearewegoingandwhatarewedoing?" Nob asked in one breath. It was probably the first time since they had set out that he had managed to complete a sentence.  
  
"Pardon? You do speak fast, Nob. I knew a lad once. Sorry. What were you saying?"  
  
"Where are we headed to?"  
  
It was a simple enough question. However, in response to it, Gonâd had to give the most long-winded story. What followed seemed to have been a narrative of every single event from the last year or so, and Nob desperately tried to stay alert so that he could hear of their destination. As he listened, he found that what Gonâd had to say was actually rather interesting, as long as he kept up with the confusing patterns of speech the man employed.  
  
"Innkeeping is not an exciting business," Gonâd began. "In fact it is rather dull. So I decided to take some time to have adventures and see everywhere else. Officially I was looking at other inns to find out how they're run and if anything is better than mine. Incidentally, any inn is pretty much the same. Ale, song, and fights. That is all there is to an inn. By the way, would you care to teach me the elf-maiden song later. We could light a fire and sing around it. That's what you always hear of in tales, is it not? The heroes crowd around a fire and sing songs, and I suppose everyone is interested to know what is under an elf-maiden's skirts. I had the chance of finding out, I thought, but the lass turned out to be a shaved man in a dress. There is an inn in Rohan, Nob, which is very interesting, not that a lad like you would want to know of the depravity. Ah- depravity. This time of travelling has been somewhat depraved for me. Shocking, the things you see! But I liked it. Oh yes, it was certainly great fun. I almost lost my beloved lute in a fight in an inn in Gondor, gambling, you know. Have you seen my lute? I shall play it by the fire when we light it. I actually did lose my horse, which was a pity. Do you know how long a walk it is from The Shire to Bree? O, I've journeyed all over these lands, yet I shall be so pleased to return home at last. In answer to your question, Nob, home is the Two Sacks Inn. A small town called Testé Kûl. It's on Langstrand. By the Sea. There is a beach. I don't suppose you've ever seen the Sea before. How I missed it on my journey. There is nothing like the sound of waves lapping the shore to send you to sleep. Well, other than the conversation of men in Gondor. Crashing bores, those folk. No idea of how to have fun if it doesn't involve a risky gamble. I nearly lost my precious lute that way. O, I told you that story. How I talk! Am I boring you to death?"  
  
"I find your conversation most interesting," Nob said tactfully. "The sun is high, it is surely time for lunch now?"  
  
"So it is! Nothing like eating outside, is there?"  
  
They lunched on bread and cheese Nob had stolen from the kitchen before his departure and Gonâd told more stories, of his adventures, of the people he had met. Nob discovered his companion had a nasty habit of talking with his mouth full, and thus found himself constantly sprayed with food.  
  
After they had eaten, Nob lit his pipe and listened to Gonâd play the lute. Between songs, there would be inevitable crude interjections of, "These fingers can work all kinds of magic, Nob, and not just with music." Fortunately, Nob managed to keep his lunch in, while battling the mental image.  
  
It really was a beautiful day. And for once, Nob did not need to clean up, or pour ale. He felt unbelievably gay as he sat beneath the sun listening to the music. If adventures were always going to be like this, he would be a very happy hobbit. 


	4. A peculiar dream

It soon transpired that there was a lot to adventures that the songs and tales did not mention. For example, nobody had told Nob that sleeping on the ground was so uncomfortable. In fact, camping was downright horrible. Nob was lying between what looked suspiciously like it had come out of the wrong end of a horse, and Gonâd, who insisted on huddling for warmth. Which, quite frankly, was a ridiculous notion, as the night was warm, but Gonâd was apparently cold.  
  
It was making Nob rather uncomfortable. He was afraid that the thing he feared most might happen. Of course, it could happen in any way on the adventure, but right now, with a hefty man wrapped round him, snoring away, it seemed most likely to happen here. Nob carefully extricated himself from the unnecessary embrace, exacting a little mumble.  
  
Curled up on the ground, Nob decided he would probably never sleep, as it was so incredibly difficult. Every angle he lay at, he found another stone to dig into him. And that song about the elf-maiden just wouldn't leave his head. It was going round and round and round so it was impossible to relax.  
  
O, an elf-maiden is fair, Charming golden hair, For that I do not care,  
  
It's beneath what she wears  
  
What did an elf-maiden keep under her skirts, Nob wondered. No. Must concentrate on sleep. Think sleepy thoughts. Bed. Elves didn't sleep. Maybe they- A warm drink. Blankets. Skirts. Ankles. Knees. Thi- Bed. Lovely cosy bed. Elf-maiden.  
  
When one falls asleep with a full mind, one generally tends to have bizarre dreams. Very bizarre ones. Nob dreamt of flying, of walking into rooms, of tall towers. He saw a ring. How nice to put his finger in it. Strange things happened if he did that. Stick the finger in, and that felt nice. And then he saw the flaming Eye which he had heard of in stories. A ring, a flaming eye, a tower. What a bizarre dream.  
  
He awoke to the sound of lute music.  
  
"I had a lovely dream," Gonâd said. "It was about how I lived up to my name of Gonâd the Gallant. Which, by the way, I just gave to myself because it sounds good. Don't you think it sounds good? Anyway, I was such a hero, and I was in battle and I rescued some maidens and everybody loved me. Did you dream? By the way, you moved in the night. Do you sleepwalk? Oh well. Tell me of your dream." Nob told of what he had seen in his dreams, and how he had heard all of these things in stories.  
  
"Ha!" Gonâd responded. "That's not your overactive imagination based on stories."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Certainly not! You need to get yourself a maiden. You see, the eye represents the woman because the way you described it, it looks like- well. And as for the tower… you filthy little hobbit, you. How did you feel when you- ahem- fingered the ring?"  
  
"It felt like I was… supposed to do it."  
  
"On the way I'll take you to a tavern with a back room. You dirty little hobbit." 


	5. A fellowship is born

-More and more blatant liberties taken with names as I further mess around with Tolkein's world. I think I should send his estate something very nice to stop them killing me.-  
  
Gonâd was a very nice bloke, Nob decided, after about a week of travelling. A very nice bloke, who just didn't know when to shut up. He really didn't need to know the intimate details of Gonâd's life. The really intimate details. It was just. unpleasant. And as for shared bathing in rivers; that was just horrible. Absolutely horrible. Especially given Nob's rather unique fear.  
  
And no traveller had ever told Nob of insect bites. Every inch of his arms were covered in itchy sores, which Gonâd said would go away if they weren't scratched. The question was, how could one not scratch something that itched so much. It was impossible.  
  
"I'm itchy," Nob whined for the twentieth time that day, which was quite an achievement as they had been awake for all of an hour.  
  
"Stop scratching," Gonâd replied. "I once had a bite on my left bollock. Now that itched. You don't even know itching till you've been bitten there. I'll show you how it scarred if you don't stop complaining." That was the twentieth time Gonâd had made the threat. It always managed to silence Nob for a good few minutes.  
  
Nob was interrupted from his cycle of complaints by the sudden sound of music. It was by no means sweet music. In fact the song, in a tongue he had never heard before, sounded quite discordant, and, from the way it was being sang, bawdy.  
  
And then, in Westron:  
  
"O! Vagi! Look! A hobbit!"  
  
"Anu, this is a sign! A sign!"  
  
And suddenly Nob found himself smothered by elves. The blighters moved fast. "Will you be our companion?" came a lilting female voice from somewhere above his head. He thought it might be coming from the figure who was sitting on his back.  
  
"Rrrrmph nnnrh," Nob replied, as politely as possible for one who is trapped beneath two elves, who, though not heavy, smelt slightly from travelling. They were also, he noticed from one of the legs which was in his face, extremely muddy. From tales he had heard, Nob had always assumed that elves were beautiful and fragrant no matter what conditions they were in. This was evidently not the case.  
  
"O, Vagi, this is perfect," said a slightly less female voice.  
  
"And there's a Man, too! Truly marvellous. Hello, Man, will you be our companion?"  
  
"Would you mind not sitting on my companion, then?" Gonâd asked, rather politely, by his standards.  
  
"You will accompany us to the Sea, then?" the female elf asked, shifting her weight slightly off Nob's chest.  
  
"We're heading in that direction anyway," Gonâd said. Both elves moved to get off Nob, who was lying at a most uncomfortable angle in the grass.  
  
"Excellent. We shall be a sort of fellowship, then," the male elf said, caressing his bow.  
  
"FOKIN! FOKIN!" the female elf screeched, suddenly losing the musical lilt to her voice. Elves could shout extremely loudly, a fact which is often not mentioned in legend.  
  
A rather miserable looking dwarf trudged to join the elves. "This," the elf said, "is Fokin, our other companion. Have you heard the tales of Prince Legolas and Gimli? Since then, we elves have been building the bridges, filling our rift. So Fokin is our companion."  
  
"I was just minding my own business when they tackled me," Fokin said.  
  
"He's a great friend of ours," the elf continued, ignoring completely what her great friend had contributed to the conversation. "Now let me introduce you to my brother, Anúsol. And that just leaves me! I am Vagísil. And you two are?"  
  
"Nob the hobbit."  
  
"Gonâd the Gallant. So we have Anúsol, Vagísil and Fokin the dwarf. And we're all headed towards Testé Kûl?"  
  
"Perhaps a song is in order," Anúsol said. Fokin looked suicidal, and Nob could tell that the dwarf had endured many, many hours of singing and was unable to take any more.  
  
"Let's sing the one about meadows!" Vagísil exclaimed cheerfully. "I do love that song.  
  
"Or." her brother added, in a tone which implied that he had just thought of the most wonderful thing. "We could ask our new companions to teach us one of their songs. Fokin taught us a most enlightening ditty. Sing it."  
  
"No," Fokin said.  
  
"Such an amusing fellow!" Vagísil gushed.  
  
"I'd say he was rather queer, though," Anúsol added. "A thoroughly queer fellow, if you ask me."  
  
"Dear brother, anyone who is not of our kin is somewhat queer to you. I suppose you think this Gonâd is queer, too."  
  
"Exceedingly so. But I care not. My heart if full of gladness, and I feel like singing a gay song! O, what a gay, gay day!"  
  
And so, they were five. 


	6. Of beauty and terror

Once can never get a moments peace on an adventure. Especially not when such an adventure involves a pair of extremely lively elves, a talkative man and a dwarf with barely-suppressed rage issues. Round the campfire, Gonâd was picking out the song about elf maidens on his lute while telling a story which seemed to veer off into at least six separate and unrelated threads with no apparent end.  
  
Nob tried his best to block out the chattering and watched as Anúsol braided the dwarf's beard. There would definitely be violence before the night was through, Nob thought as he surveyed Fokin's expression.  
  
Vagísil seemed utterly absorbed in Gonâd free-form story, which was currently about what he had done in a river with six maidens. "You are the most fascinating person I have ever met," she said softly, moving in closer. "Goodness, the night is cold. Would you mind keeping me warm?" Nob snorted at this; it was a very warm night indeed.  
  
"Certainly. So there were six completely naked maidens, and the stars were shining, the moon was out, and suddenly they all want to see my lute-"  
  
"That was a beautiful tune you were playing on your lute. What was it?"  
  
Nob wondered if Gonâd would say what he was playing. Judging from the position he was in, he probably stood a good chance of discovering what an elf maiden kept beneath her skirts. "It is a song of my people. About flowers," Gonâd replied quickly. "And one of the maidens- I knew a maiden back at home who-"  
  
"GET OFF GET OFF GET OFF!"  
  
Fokin had finally cracked. It appeared that the last straw had been Anúsol attempting to incorporate flowers into his beard. "I'm not like you! Stop it!"  
  
"You look beautiful, though," Anúsol said, "just like me."  
  
"It's amazing what a little bit of styling can do," Vagísil added, her hands now in Gonâd's beard. "You look almost beautiful enough to be an elf, Fokin."  
  
"I DON'T WANT TO BE AN ELF!"  
  
"Don't hate us because we're beautiful," Anúsol began.  
  
"Hate us because you're not," his sister concluded, temporarily removing her tongue from Gonâd's mouth.  
  
"Quite right, too," Gonâd added, then resuming his activities with the elf, who was proving to be quite the nymphomaniac.  
  
"Elves," grumbled Fokin, who seemed to have already spent far too much time with the elves, and the grudge between the two races was resurrected, at least on his part. "Are they all this bad?"  
  
"Never seen an elf before," Nob commented. "Maybe some of them aren't as bad. But those two are rather. difficult to get used to."  
  
"A bleeding nightmare, more like. I have spent a month in their company. Brother and sister! My arse. Those two are permanently holding hands and. o, it's disgusting. Elves. Hate them. Really, really, really hate them. Elves."  
  
"Elves," Nob agreed. It was at this point he made the mistake of glancing at Gonâd and Vagísil. The elf's hand had just made its way to the man's crotch. The last thing Nob remembered was hearing screaming, perhaps his own, before the world went black. 


	7. A brush with death or not

He awoke to the sensation of water being poured over his face.  
  
"Nob, what happened?" Gonâd asked. As he was brandishing a pan, Nob believed him to be the likely culprit for the water throwing, and he was not best pleased. He had only been sleeping- hadn't he?  
  
"You started screeching. Then suddenly died," Anúsol added in what he probably assumed was a helpful tone, but it didn't really seem that way. "Vagi and I tried to use old fashioned Elvish medicine, but it didn't work. So Gonâd threw water on you. That worked."  
  
"I- I can't remember a thing."  
  
"Very convenient for you," Gonâd said, in a tone Nob had never heard before. For once the man did not seem friendly. He sounded like a man who had been deprived of discovering what an elf maiden kept under her skirts. Nob had absolutely no idea why.  
  
"I thought you were going to die," Fokin added, with a note in his voice which implied envy. "And wouldn't have to continue on our journey." The implication was gone now. It was purely explicit.  
  
"It's just bloody unfair," Gonâd ejaculated. "Right at the time when I could discover- o, never mind. I am being unreasonable. I remember once, I was back at home, and I was incredibly unreasonable. My cousin, Saco, said to me, 'Nads,' he said, 'will you look after my children for me?' And I said, 'Never!' And so Saco couldn't go on an adventure and I felt very guilty. Then he got one of the regular customers at the Two Sacks to do it, and he's now in Gondor. Don't tell his wife, but it's to meet all the loose women. Gondor's notorious for that, if you know the right places to go. Once I met this lass-"  
  
"So you feel alright, do you?" Vagísil said, patting Nob's bouncy curls.  
  
"Never better. I was probably tired, and fell asleep."  
  
"Doesn't explain the hysterical screaming," Anúsol said, in the same trying- to-be-helpful tone.  
  
"Very tired," Nob said. He had an inkling as to why he had passed out screaming, and hoped he hadn't uttered any words. Otherwise his phobia would be known to all and he could be cruelly mocked.  
  
"It sounded like, 'DON'T TOUCH THAT.'"  
  
"I. gibber when I'm tired." Nob was alarmingly good at thinking on his hairy little feet.  
  
"Bloodcurdling, it was."  
  
"I really thought you were going to die," Fokin said. "You were just lying there."  
  
"Spoiling my moment," Gonâd grumbled. "Hobbits are rather weak little things. Going down more often than- o, never mind. There are ladies present. A lady."  
  
"And you think my fragile ears won't want to hear what hobbits go down more often than?" Vagísil demanded.  
  
"Well. yes."  
  
"Say it."  
  
"More often than a Gondorian tavern wench, I was going to say."  
  
"Do they fall over often, then?" Anúsol asked rather innocently. Gonâd made a gesture which evidently explained what he meant.  
  
"I still don't understand," Nob said.  
  
"So naïve. I must remember to take you to that tavern with the back room." 


	8. Elrond's assertation that men are weak i...

"Are you sure he's her brother?" Gonâd whispered to Nob, as the elves wandered along hand in hand.  
  
"That's her story," Nob replied. He, like Fokin, was completely fed up with elves. Gonâd, evidently, wanted to finish what he had started by the campfire, but found he had no opportunity. For Vagísil liked to wander off and prey on travellers to satisfy her urges. Or her brother, Nob thought.  
  
"She tried doing it to me once," Fokin sighed. "Until she realised I was screaming with mortal fear rather that delight at having an elven wench sitting on me."  
  
"But- she's so beautiful," Gonâd said simply.  
  
"Looks like any other bloody elf. Long, perfect hair, tall, willowy- that's her word, not mine. I prefer far too thin. I mean, where's the beard?"  
  
"Beard?" Nob and Gonâd chorused. They had simply been expecting another rant on elves, not this bizarre twist in the grumble.  
  
"Yes, beard," Fokin said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I like women to have a bit of a beard. Even a little one, like Gonâd's, which, you have to admit, is rather pathetic."  
  
It is male nature to behave like a complete and utter child when a part of his anatomy is called "pathetic". Even for something as trivial as a beard, Gonâd felt it still warranted threatening to hit the dwarf. 


	9. What DOES an elf maiden keep beneath her...

That evening, the fighters finally returned, looking as if they had finally made their peace. Fokin was back to looking merely surly, while Gonâd was making lewd comments. In celebration of the regained peace, the last of the ale was drunk, most of it imbibed by Gonâd, though Anúsol had a little bit more than his delicate elf body could handle.  
  
"Teach me the shong about the maidensh," he slurred.  
  
As Vagísil was off prowling, it seemed perfectly acceptable to teach her brother the crude elf-maiden song. "Now then, Anúsol-" Gonâd begain in a teacherly manner.  
  
"Call me Anu. Teach me the shong."  
  
"Now then, Anu, listen very carefully. Repeat after me. O, an elf maiden is fair,"  
  
"O, a nelf daimen ish fair."  
  
"Charming golden hair,"  
  
"Charming hair goldfish."  
  
"You're drunk, Anu."  
  
"You're drunk, Anu."  
  
"SHUT UP YOU STUPID ELF!" That was Fokin's contribution to the singing lesson. Although he had settled his differences with Gonâd, he still despised elves. And was still grumpy.  
  
"O, an elf maiden is fair, Charming golden hair, For that I do not care, It's beneath what she wears," Nob sang beautifully. He thought he was probably getting drunk from Anúsol's breath, as he was certainly feeling rather light-headed.  
  
"O, what is beneath an elf maiden's skirts, That I would like to know," Gonâd joined in.  
  
"A thing of great beauty, that I am sure, If only I was to be shown," by now Fokin had joined in and was harmonising nicely. Nob was allowed to sing the next verse solo, as the others were still slightly unsure of it. The hobbit knew the whole thing as he had been subjected to it every night for as long as he cared to remember.  
  
"You're wrong," hissed a voice in Nob's ear as he was singing of lifting petticoats and what lay beneath.  
  
"Vagísil?" Nob stammered.  
  
"That's right," the elf replied. "Now, Nob, I'm going to correct your lack of knowledge. Come with me." Her tone was so sharp that Nob just had to follow. Slightly tipsy, he wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but the others were applauding.  
  
That was the last thing Nob remembered before he woke up with dawn breaking. Gonâd was snoring like a pig, with an arm draped over Fokin, who still had a half full mug of ale in his hand.  
  
Vagísil had skulked off again, though Anúsol was still around, absently singing the elf maiden song with completely the wrong words.  
  
"You did that thing again," the elf said, noticing Nob was awake.  
  
"What thing?"  
  
"The thing where you start screaming then pass out. Don't you remember?"  
  
"Not at all."  
  
"Well, you went off with Vagi and then suddenly we heard screaming. Hysterical. And she carried you back. Tell me why."  
  
"Well, I suppose there's something you should know. my secret-"  
  
-Cliffhanger time. Find out soon when I can be arsed to update ;)- 


End file.
